


Reward

by Starla-Nell (Princess_Nell)



Series: Treats [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Anders' grease spell, Communication, M/M, Merrill knows more than you think, Objectification, Oral Sex, Regret, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Spanking, minor Hawke/Fenris/Anders, muddy negotiation, spoilers in the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 18:23:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12753690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Nell/pseuds/Starla-Nell
Summary: Fenris and Anders exchange rewards earned in Competition: Anders vs. Fenris.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers in the tags. Minor spoilers for Competition.  
> Fenris and Anders do not act fully in-character for canon, but they took a long, Treat-filled road to get here, so hopefully it’s close.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These two dodge some tricky misunderstandings without Hawke's help.   
> They also agree to play tomorrow, but I'm sure you're not interested in that part. ;)

“Excuse me,” Anders says. The patient’s scrapes from squeezing behind rubble to hide from templars can _wait_. Apparently his Bride-cursed co-boyfriend _can’t._ Fenris has been rolling bandages every day for the past few days, but he never stays. He’s picking up his sword to leave. Again.

“Fenris!” Anders calls across the clinic. Fenris freezes a few steps from the door. “Are you seriously leaving without talking to me _again_?” Anders says, striding over.

Fenris turns around. He looks maybe angry, but not quite. Anders looks at the creased brow, the frown, and not meeting his eyes in the best _possible_ light and guesses the elf’s embarrassed.

“Would it upset you if I did?” Fenris says, belligerent despite his embarrassment. Or anger.

“I keep seeing you here and hoping you’re here to discuss our _other business_.” Anders drops his voice to a Circle-safe volume. “Tease.”

Fenris’ head tilts, and that could be anger again, or it could be another kind of heat. Anders wishes Hawke was here to help sort it out. It’s so fucking hard to read Fenris.

“I… I have an appointment with Aveline sorry bye,” Fenris says, and Anders refuses to abandon his patient to follow him. _Asshole._

###

At the Hanged Man that night, Aveline takes a swig of beer and says, “Fenris asked to meet about a group of slavers working out of the Undercity.”

Anders frowns. “So he set up the meeting?”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“He…” For one frustrated moment, Anders is tempted to spill the whole story, but no. He sighs. “Sorry, Aveline, it’s personal.” _She already knows I’m with Hawke and Fenris. She doesn’t need more ammunition to sell to the templars._

Her brow furrows, then smooths. “I understand,” she says. “Donnic and I have our disagreements, too.”

She’s good at playing the friend. It could even be real. Anders forces a smile. _This is how people smile, I’m pretty sure._ He’s had trouble remembering. It’s only easy anymore when he’s with Hawke. “Don’t worry, Aveline. It’s not a big deal.”

“Good,” she says, patting his shoulder and going for more drink. Anders slips out while she’s at the bar and heads for Fenris’ mansion in Hightown.

No one bothers to knock on Fenris’ door, so Anders lets himself in shouting, “It’s me, Fenris!” The mansion is different from Hawke’s estate: larger, but only one building and far less well cared-for. He shakes his head and goes through the main hall. “You could dispose of fewer bodies if you locked your door!” he shouts. At least this set doesn’t smell.

But Fenris isn’t home. The embers in the hearth in the back room are banked. The table is clear and clean, except for a cluster of pillar candles and their spilled wax. On the shelves are a few books and five empty, unlabeled wine bottles but no food. The wine bottles are displayed like trophies, though bottles are scattered when Fenris is home. _Are they always the same bottles, or does Fenris drink that much?_

Anders takes a last glance around and sees the bed tucked in the far corner. His mouth goes dry. He’d forgotten Fenris sleeps in this room. It’s nothing special: a narrow mattress on a simple frame. Anders leans over and inhales. Clean linen, with an undertone of cloves, warmth, and lyrium. _It smells like him._

The door opens and Anders is caught _smelling the bedclothes_ of his boyfriend’s boyfriend. He stands up fast and stalks toward the area for guests.

“Hawke hasn’t been here,” Fenris says, setting a basket on the table. “Although…” he’s smiling, and Anders’ eyes are drawn to the benches by the fireplace. _The bed isn’t the only place to fuck,_ hangs unsaid in the air. Fenris chuckles. “The bench has its appeal, but I think not. I’m doing better about rope, but I’m not ready to tie you to a bench. We _would_ need Hawke.”

“I’m”— _I’m very good at holding on,_ Anders does not say. “I’m wondering why you keep watching me at the clinic. It’s creepy.”

Fenris raises an eyebrow and glances at the bed.

Anders shrugs. “Don’t change the subject,” he says.

Fenris laughs. “I don’t mind if you smell my pillow. It’s kind of _cute_ ,” he says. Anders bristles without getting upset: it’s an inside joke now. “I watch you because I enjoy it.” Fenris steps too close. “Is that not allowed, Pet?”

“It’s fucking creepy,” Anders says, backing up. “You _always_ watch when I cast spells.”

“It is… difficult to miss,” Fenris says, brows furrowing. “I fail to see…”

“Of course you do! You look but cannot see! You might as well have a sword engraved on your chest!” Anders presses his back against the wall. He has nowhere to go. Justice flexes reassuringly but does not crack through Anders’ skin.

“Sword on my”—Fenris’ eyes grow large. “No! The _templars_. I watch you _cast spells_. Kaffas.” Fenris presses the side of his thumb against his forehead, turning away from Anders. That helps a lot. Then he sits on one of the benches by the fire and gestures to the one across from him. The one closer to the door. He’s just Fenris again. “Allow me to explain?”

Anders breathes deeply once, twice. He sits on the bench, plotting a route to the door he won’t need. Pretty sure.

“Lyrium has a song,” Fenris begins.

_Of course it does._ Justice hums this tuneless song when Fenris is around, or when they’re near lyrium lodes in the Deep Roads. Anders had discovered that things made with lyrium… do not react well with mage skin. The elf, however, is tattooed in it.

“Can you hear it?” Anders asks. Before Justice, he never could.

“Only when magic is cast: a note or two, a whole stanza for a longer spell. In the Imperium, that song meant… unpleasant things for those around me, unless I was fighting. _That_ is why I look.”

Anders nods.

“I’m not trying to… control you with _that_ ,” Fenris says. “I enjoy watching you, but I will stop if you prefer. It might take practice.”

Anders considers but shakes his head. Knowing why Fenris’ gaze is drawn to magic will be enough.

Fenris is watching. “There’s more,” he says.

Anders nods and breathes some more. “Fenris, I appreciate your help making bandages, but I thought the point was to talk with me?”

“Perhaps. You presence soothes me, in spite of the magic.” At Anders’ concerned look, he shrugs. “I blame the association with Hawke. He soothes me, too.” From his casual tone, their agreed mutual lack of romantic interest holds firm. _Good. Fenris will need to be strong for Hawke._

“You have meetings, the last with Aveline.” Anders keeps his voice neutral.

Fenris shrugs.

“Fenris, you _arrange_ those meetings. Are you avoiding me?” Whoops. That was an accusation.

Fenris smiles. “Didn’t this start because I thought _you_ were avoiding _me_?” he says.

Anders blinks. He’s right. They’d argued and made that ridiculous wager because Fenris thought Anders didn’t want to spend time with him. “So this is what? Revenge?”

Fenris shakes his head and waves, still smiling. “No, we can talk more. I didn’t want to arrange for our _other business_ until I had the toy. I didn’t want to say that at your clinic.”

Anders stops breathing, and his mouth gets dry. “We could do my favor first,” he says weakly.

“You wanted to get my favor over with. I have the toy now.”

Anders’ ass clenches, which he covers by shifting on the hard bench. “Not… um… when?”

“Tomorrow. I can pick you up for Hawke’s bandit sweep on the Wounded Coast. Hawke knows sometimes you have business to conclude, so if we take a little longer…”

“We can’t be too late, though.” Anders feels his cheeks heat.

Fenris hums, standing to see him to the door. “Save your blush for tomorrow.”

“It’s not like I run out,” Anders says, wondering how red his cheeks are.

“I like it,” Fenris says, standing too close holding the door. “It’s”—

“I know,” Anders blurts to stop him. “You think it’s cute.” He can feel his entire face heating up now.

Fenris chuckles, a sound that warms Anders all the way to his bed in Darktown.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders has more fun than he was expecting.

The next morning, Anders stares at the anal plug. They’re in his cubby of personal space, no more than a broom closet off the clinic with a cot and a simple curtain door.

“Did Hawke get a new one?” He’s not complaining. The black plug is a hard rubber knob, curved forward _just so_. It’s large enough to feel, but not be… too uncomfortable.

“No,” Fenris says. He puts a hand out. “Grease.”

“Demanding much?” Anders says, crossing his arms.

But Fenris arches an eyebrow. “Yes, I am,” he says. Anders catches his breath at how hot a demanding Fenris can be, and his arms fall to his sides. Fenris steps closer and takes his hand. “Grease,” he rumbles quietly.

Anders casts it without thinking. Fenris uses the light, slippery grease to lube the anal plug down to its rubber handle, which is the shape of two hooks at the bottom: one forward, one back. Those will keep it from getting too deep or twisting, but be more comfortable than a flare. Anders swallows hard.

“Pants off,” Fenris says. Anders huffs, tearing his eyes from the plug. He turns around, hikes up his robes, and yanks his pants down to the ankle boots he wears in the clinic. Suddenly, he’s very self-conscious. Unexpected visitors would jump to conclusions… that would be right on the mark.

 _People don’t barge in unless it’s an emergency._ That doesn’t help, since Kirkwall mages are in a perpetual state of emergency. Anders is wrapped up in possibilities and doesn’t think when Fenris sits on the cot in front of him.

“Shall we grant your reward as well as mine now?” Fenris says.

“No, I want…” Anders starts, but then Fenris licks the crease at the top of his leg, and he forgets what he was going to say.

“This is for me, then,” Fenris agrees. _Oh, fuck._ Fenris sucks Anders’ half-hard dick into his mouth, nudging the tip of the plug against his entrance, and Anders gets hard so fast he nearly faints. He grabs Fenris for balance, but the only part he can reach is his head. Fenris hums, and Anders bucks into his mouth involuntarily. _This_ is for _Fenris_? Then Fenris presses on the plug, and Anders bites back a moan.

“You asshole,” Anders hisses. “There are people out there.”

Fenris glances up at him, smiling around his cock, and slides the knob just inside. Anders grunts at the sensation. It’s a stretch: not unpleasant, but not erotic, either. Fenris wants to make him _feel_ : good, uncomfortable, whatever.

Anders feels _used_.

His reactions to _that_ tangle with his pleasure like loose wire and push him closer to cumming in Fenris’ mouth. In the middle of that rush, Fenris slides the knob all the way in and removes his mouth. _Fuck._ Anders wobbles on his feet. The knob nudges Anders’ prostate in an invasive but not entirely unwelcome way.  

“You’re leaving me hard?” Anders bites out, rocking his cock toward Fenris’ lips. Fenris leans out of range, smiling.

“Revenge for calling me a tease yesterday,” he says quietly. “Be careful what you wish for. How does it feel, Pet?” He leans forward again and traces the handle against Anders’ skin, which feels amazing.

He swallows. “Ungh, ah…” Anders pretends to clear his throat. “It’s bigger than it looks.”

Fenris chuckles, and Anders’ hips buck again. “Good,” he says, giving the plug a tap. It jolts against his prostate. “Kaffas, mage,” Fenris says. “If you don’t want others to worry, control your face.” He stands, dropping Anders’ robes, but his pants are pooled over his boots.

Anders grabs the elf’s shoulders to pull him close. “But you’ll know, won’t you?” he asks breathlessly. “You wanted to watch me struggle to hide how it affects me.”

“Fuck yes,” Fenris says. “I could have asked for…” Fenris briefly presses on Anders’ shoulders. “…but this is what I wanted most.”

Anders _wants_ to drop to his knees and let Fenris fuck his face. But Fenris steps back and says, “Pull up your pants,” and his leer pisses Anders off. Especially since he’s right.

Anders tucks his hard cock up and bends easily, but standing earns him an unexpected jolt of sensation. He shifts his hips to get the leggings all the way up. Fenris is watching with a sort of smoldering glee that is _not_ earning him a blow job.

Anders finishes lacing the leggings as Fenris steps too close. “It’s _not_ Hawke’s,” he says, tapping Anders on the ass and sending another jolt through his nerves.

“You picked this out?” Anders breathes.

“This is you and me,” Fenris confirms low in his ear. His neck smells of cloves and good sex.

Anders blinks, speechless. Fenris is wearing his coy grin as he steps through the curtain into the clinic. “Hawke’s waiting at the Kirkwall gate,” he says, “join us when you’re able.”

###

His cock softens into a dull ache as Anders lays everything out, the routine calming him. While putting his armor on, Anders gets so accustomed to the plug he unthinkingly sits on his bed.

Holy _fuck_ that’s an experience.

Once sitting, there’s no better way to get his boots on, so he does it carefully, practicing not reacting when the plug surprises him. Half the effect is the forward hook nudging between his balls, but identifying the sensation doesn’t lessen it.

On his walk to the edge of town, Anders can’t stop smiling. He’d predicted getting aroused, but instead he feels _good:_ a little hum through his nerves, almost a song. He takes the steps up to Lowtown briskly, which moves the plug less than going slowly.

He tries to stop smiling, but he can’t. _Andraste’s bloomers._ Fenris will see it, which is annoying. He imagines Fenris at a sex-toy shop, mulling over anal plugs for Anders for something just right.

Anders feels a stab of guilt. When he agreed to this prize, he thought Hawke would provide the plug. Normally, Fenris’ marks remind him of Hawke, too: his face when he watches them play. This plug claims him for Fenris only: it feels disloyal. The guilt tugs at Anders until he remembers first that Hawke applauded the favor exchange without his own limitations, and second that he wants details later. Anders knows how Hawke will use _that_ information.

Anders spots the group about the time he’s got facial control, except a lingering smile. He’s _never_ been so fucking happy to see Merrill. Aveline or Varric might have been concerned about Anders’ condition, and Isabela or Sebastian might have guessed the cause. Instead, Merrill will be sweetly oblivious, asking if she’d missed something dirty if Hawke catches on.

Along the wounded coast, he’s especially glad for the leeway. _Climbing_ the trail is bad enough, each step rubbing the handles against his rim as he uses leg muscles, but going _down_ a slope tilts the plug to press into his prostate.

At first, it’s a mere discomfort paired strangely with the struggle to stop smiling. He chats with Merrill, sneaks a kiss for Hawke when the other two aren’t looking. Then, he notices Fenris’ smirk. The elf enjoys his discomfort. Anders gets frustrated. Fenris is making him uncomfortable for _fun_. ‘ _This is what I wanted most.’_ Damn him.

They find the first group of bandits, and Fenris is smiling the widest Anders has seen, actual teeth showing. This will be a challenge, with the stances Anders takes to cast his spells. He starts with little bolts of energy, and it’s not bad. Spark, spark, spark of pleasure, but he can handle it.

Then he casts his first spell of the day. It’s Winter’s Grasp, simple enough in movement, but pulling on the Fade moves the plug! It pulls deeper, hooks tugging at his rim, hits his prostate firmly, then returns to neutral. The spell freezes the bandit, but Anders slides to one knee, leaning on his staff and gasping from the overload of sensation. Fenris appears by his side. He cuts down everyone within 5 feet, then 10 feet, then anyone who glances at Anders. By the time Anders is recovered enough to stand, the bandits are dead.

“You okay, Anders?” Hawke says, putting his knives away, hands twitching toward his elfroot potions.

“Someone had magebane,” Fenris explains. He supports Anders, who’s swaying on his feet. “It has a sealed lyrium core,” he says softly, searching Anders’ face. “Do you like it?”

“Did-did Hawke tell you I love surprises?” Anders says. Thank _fuck_ Isabela’s not here.

Fenris shakes his head, smile showing teeth again. “You mentioned it last time, remember?”

Anders nods, stands on his own.

“Maybe we should sit a while?” Merrill suggests.

“No!” chorus Anders and Fenris.

###

It’s a tortuous afternoon. Anders only casts magic when he must. Each spell pulls at the plug differently. Without thinking, he uses Winter’s Grasp frequently, even though it affects him most. He learns to control his reactions and keep fighting, but he can’t control that smile. He wonders if it’s creepy.

At first, he’s surprised how inventive Fenris is. Then he becomes angry at how difficult this makes a simple bandit sweep and a simple favor to that asshole. In spite of his anger, he stubbornly refuses to stop using Winter’s Grasp. It’s a useful spell.

Fenris sees his anger but seems unconcerned and self-satisfied. Anders focuses on a new determination to wipe that smirk off his face. Halfway up the Coast, he spots tall boulder, grabs Fenris’ wrist, and says, “Excuse us, Hawke, Merrill. I need to talk to Fenris.” Fenris looks worried at that. _Good._ Anders drags him behind the boulder.

“Anders, I have a bag for it. If you need me to”—

He didn’t have a plan, but Anders shoves Fenris against the huge rock—“Fuck you!”—and presses their mouths together. The taste of cloves and honey turns Anders’ anger into lust. He can’t be sure it wasn’t always lust.

Fenris pushes him away, but his searching eyes are dark, his breath ragged.

“I want my favor tonight,” Anders says, “and then I want you to fuck me. Your place, so we can be loud.”

Fenris smiles. “Should I make you beg?”

“Yes,” Anders says, “ _after_ we get to your place.”

“Kaffas,” Fenris says, “Hawke would be livid that we’re negotiating when you’re this hot.” He frantically kisses him, all tongues and bitten lips. Anders starts to see advantages to getting fucked against this rock, and he pushes away.

“Tonight,” he says.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut.

The bandit sweep is colored by the promise of sex. While they’re fighting the last group, Anders casts Winter’s Grasp often, driving himself into a frenzied haze of lust. He stops memorizing the story for Hawke. He wonders how Fenris’ bed feels, whether Fenris will use the bench, changes his stride down the mountain for maximum effect, hands shaking with effort to not tear off Fenris’ armor and clothes on the beach.

He’s so careless he almost collapses inside Kirkwall gates. Fenris catches him, assuring Hawke and Merrill he’ll get Anders home safe. It’s hard to tell if they’re reassured, because now Anders can _smell_ Fenris under the road grime.

“You’re filthy,” he mutters in a half-hearted attempt to control himself, “and injured.” Anders lifts a hand to heal Fenris.

“Shh, Pet,” Fenris says, catching his hand. “No more magic before the mansion.”

Fenris’ mansion is falling apart, but it has hot running water and that basket last night was full of food, so Fenris bathes and feeds them while Anders shakes with need at Fenris’ table.

“You’re doing so well, Pet,” Fenris soothes while he sets slices of plum on Anders’ tongue. “Eat. We’re almost ready.” The night is warm, the air sweet against Anders’ skin. They’re clean and naked now, except for Fenris’ bandage.

“No blood,” Anders whispers.

“I know,” Fenris says. “Is it okay to heal it when we get to bed?”

Anders rocks his hips to make the plug move. “Yes,” he groans, “the plug will push down, almost out.”

Fenris sucks in a breath. “Which spell pushes it back in?” he asks.

“Winter’s Grasp. That-that first one.”

“Kaffas, the sight of you breathless on the ground. I fucked you all day with my toy.” He feeds Anders a bite of bread with cheese. “You cast so many spells after I’d promised to fuck you properly.” Anders chews and swallows quickly.

“Please. You wanted me to beg, didn’t you? Please take me to bed; we can finish the food later.”

Fenris silently places another plum slice on Anders’ tongue, but he relents under his begging gaze, popping the last slice in his own mouth and sweeping Anders up, bridal-style, kissing and chewing. They both swallow before Fenris dumps Anders on the narrow bed. Anders gasps at the jolt to the rubber plug, writhing and savoring it.

“Flat on your front, facing the fire,” Fenris says, and Anders clambers around as directed. His arms and legs are slow and heavy, the way they can be with Hawke. He hooks his feet off the edges of the narrow bed, pushing his ass up to make it enticing, smiling back at Fenris as Anders becomes aware of the muscles clenching the plug.

Fenris traces around the supple hooks with a single finger. After everything Anders has done with Fenris’ plug, this is frighteningly intimate. Anders buries his face in his arms. _How did we get naked again?_ Then he remembers the wound, reaches back to cast heal. He represses a squeal as his rim stretches around the bulb, which nearly pushes out of his body.

“Holds still, that might fall out,” Fenris says. He makes that harder by trailing his nails against Anders’ skin, and then fetches an empty wine bottle.

“Freeze this,” he says, setting it on the floor where Anders can see it.

Anders casts a small Winter’s Grasp on the bottle, and the plug invades him, hitting his prostate again.

“Please, Fenris,” Anders begs, shaking, “I don’t care what you do; just fuck me until I cum.”

“You wanted your favor first.” Fenris sounds surprised.

“I know, but if you don’t want”—

“And miss the chance to spank you while you’re plugged?”

Anders’ breath hisses, and he groans as Fenris trails his fingernails over his ass. A pause as Fenris lifts his open hand. Fenris smacks him perfectly, and Anders jerks hard when the plug nudges his sweet spot again. His skin and cock rub the rough sheets. Another smack follows before Anders cools down from the first. The sensations are too much to process, so he lets them flow through him freely. Fenris spanks him again and again, overwhelming him with pleasure and need. Anders is buried in his own body when Fenris says, “Fasta vass, I bet you’d unload if I cum on your ass, wouldn’t you, Pet?”

Anders moans because he’s right, but this is his chance to beg. “Please fuck me,” he says. _Smack._ “I need your cock in me.” _Smack._ “Angh, please…” _Smack._ “…fuck, angh…” _Smack._ “…me.” Anders loses control then, rutting into the mattress, chanting “please, please, please,” through gritted teeth while Fenris scrapes his nails over his warm ass. Anders might go crazy with the sensation.

“Such a spoiled pet,” Fenris says. “Grease.”

Anders casts it on Fenris’ hand. The lyrium plug vibrates with magic, and Anders nearly cums, gasping “ah, ah, ah!” as the magic fades.

Fenris pulls the plug out fast enough to sting and slides his slick cock in behind it. _Oh fuck!_ He carefully sets the plug aside while Anders gets used to the new stretch. He’s buried to the hilt, but he grabs Anders’ hip and pulls them tighter. Anders tries to buck, but Fenris moves his free hand to his upper back. Anders keeps writhing, saying “please, more, fuck me, please,” but he’s secure in Fenris’ grip, hip and back.

The elf moves, and it’s amazing.

“How does it feel, Pet?” he says, pressing Anders into the mattress, and Anders makes ridiculous sounds and doesn’t care, it’s that good. Fenris’ pace starts slow but steadily increases until each stroke moves Anders forward on the bed, rough sheets rubbing his cock and skin and nipples. The pleasure webs through his body, strong, inescapable. Then he can suddenly move again. His hands are free, so he tugs Fenris’ hand from his upper back up to his neck, his trigger. Fenris shifts so he’s leaning his other hand on the bed and squeezes gently. That drops barriers between Anders and his building orgasm, but he holds back, trying to slow his climax. Out of nowhere: _This is never happening again._ Never like this, so he savors the thick-spun pleasure until he can’t hold back anymore.

“Fenris! I’m going to-!” He cums hard on the sheets, screaming and ass clenching around Fenris.

“That’s right,” Fenris says, teeth gritted, as Anders finishes, “cum for me, my little fuck toy.” He grunts with the next stroke. “Get all loose! So there’s plenty of room! For my cum!” Fenris’ grip tightens, and Anders matches his groans, and he thrusts harder but slower, into Anders’ afterglow. For a moment, Anders remembers Hawke isn’t there to stop Fenris being too rough, but he won’t be, he isn’t, and it’s good and slick and Fenris is lighting up. Anders looks over his shoulder into the blue glare and oh, _fuck,_ the look on his face above Anders, ecstasy as good as anything Hawke’s given them.

“Anders, Anders,” Fenris says, pulling them together on the narrow bed, sliding out but wrapping around Anders’ back. “Fuck.” Then: “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Anders says, but Fenris is holding too tight to let him turn over.

“You’re not a fuck toy. That’s not—I don’t know where that came from. The rest of it didn’t even make sense!”

Anders tenses. _Is that not okay?_ He feels a wash of guilt. “I know where it came from,” he whispers miserably. “I begged you to _use_ me last time. Are you upset?”

“I… forgot about that,” Fenris admits. He gets up and finds a few rags, and they clean up, Anders sitting up to dab at the wet spot. Several times, Fenris opens his mouth, looks at Anders, and shuts it again. He must be upset. Anders had been hoping to stay tonight, just for the skin contact, but it’s not worth it with how awkward it’s gotten.

“I should get going, in case someone needs something at the clinic.” Anders gathers himself to stand, but Fenris swings a leg over his lap and sits on him, stopping him from standing. “Fenris! What are you”—

“I’ve only discussed a new kink with Hawke.” Fenris says, and Anders can smell their sex on his skin. It distracts him pleasantly from his embarrassment. “We’re not doing _feelings_ , but we should work the kinks out. It’s not… Hawke would be disappointed if you leave because I couldn’t…” Fenris takes a deep breath, like he does sometimes right before battle. “Just us. _I’m_ not upset. Did _you_ like it? Do you _want_ it?”

Anders remembers when he and Hawke discovered their compatible interests in pain and power play. Fenris is right; this is discovering a new kink: worried about feeling good when it shouldn’t be okay.

“I’m scared of it,” Anders admits before he remembers he’s talking with Fenris, not Hawke. _He’s taking a risk, too. Besides, he saw my fear the other night._  “I want to-to be your fuck toy, not really, but in the moment, yes.” Anders closes his eyes and presses his forehead into Fenris’ chest. “Fuck, yes.”

Fenris takes a sharp breath and pushes Anders back onto the bed, avoiding the lingering wet spot.

“If it gave you pleasure, then I withdraw my apology,” Fenris says, smiling coyly down at him.

Anders grins. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not just a place to cum…”

Fenris chuckles, hiding his face behind a fringe of hair. “Never. You’re—never.”

“Fenris? Do I want to know?” Anders tries to see his face as he recalls something Fenris said months ago, when this started: Sex-induced affection. It’s become a mantra he uses whenever Fenris gets this way. Which is too often.

Anders tries to brush the hair away, but Fenris pins his hands gently and settles like a skinny blanket over him.

“Go to sleep, Anders.”

_It’s sex-induced affection. It’s not real. Only sex-induced._

Anders could safeword and push the point, but he’s oddly comfortable. He yawns. He sleeps.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast at Fenris' Mansion.

The next morning, Fenris is sleeping when Anders wakes up on his side, too warm under blankets in the morning light, Fenris pressed against his back, arm draped over him. _Fenris must have gotten covers in the night._ His stomach is complaining: _Sex equals a big breakfast._ Anders flips over to face Fenris. He chuckles at the line of drool trailing from the corner of Fenris’ mouth.

Anders touches two fingers in the triangle of dots on Fenris’ forehead, then against his cheek, his nose, and back to his forehead. “Wake up, I’m hungry,” he says. He smiles at the memory of Ser Pounce doing the same thing years ago, and keeps poking.

Fenris grunts and rolls away from Anders.

Anders rustles under the blankets to get on Fenris’ other side, back against the rough wall. He shoves Fenris toward the edge of the bed.

“It’s your food. I don’t know where it is.”

“It’s on the table. Basket,” Fenris grumbles. His voice is even rougher in the morning.

“What kind of a host makes his treasured guest prepare his own breakfast?” Anders asks with a blend of cheerful horror and feigned innocence.

Fenris opens one eye to glare at Anders then closes both eyes tight.

“Aww,” Anders says, “That’s so _cute._ ”

That earns him a full glare, and Anders almost regrets waking him.

Almost.

Because then Fenris gets up with a grunt, stealing one of the blankets, and brings the basket of food to the bed. Flashes of tattooed skin peep from beneath the blanket as he clambers back onto the bed.

“I don’t have Hawke’s icebox and servants, but I did find those olives you love,” he says grumpily. He opens a fresh jar of olives from the basket. “Don’t eat the whole thing, you’d probably get sick. I’ll give the rest to Hawke so they don’t go to waste. Or you can hand them to an urchin if you prefer.”

“You… were prepared for me to stay here?” Anders says.

Fenris shrugs, smiling faintly and slicing more of the bread from last night. “I figured you wouldn’t want a spanking at your place, so they’d come in useful eventually.”

Anders shakes his head, also smiling. They eat breakfast in an oddly companionable silence.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill surprises everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter introduces an idea of Merrill I ran across on Tumblr a while ago. After considering it carefully, I think it’s completely valid though not mandatory.   
> Specifically, I have the Dalish talking quite candidly about sex and kinks, which makes Merrill quite open-minded and a little embarrassing.

Merrill asks her question, and everyone at the table stops doing things, for some reason.

She’s caught them whispering several times this evening. Here’s how it went: Anders was talking with some mages in the corner, and Fenris walked by and whispered something. Anders turned pink and pretended he wasn’t turning pink. Later, Fenris was debating with Maraas, and Anders said something that made Fenris smile and lose his train of thought. Anders is sitting next to Hawke now, and Fenris has just whispered something that earned him a blush and a glare from Anders.

“Are you playing nice?” Hawke says, concerned but pretending not to be. Merrill knows about this: keeping the peace without rousing ire.

“I am,” Fenris says smugly.

He’s about to wonder off again, so Merrill asks, “Fenris, how did you get the insertable to react to magic yesterday?” before he goes. That’s when everybody at the table stops doing things. Someone across the Hanged Man shouts for more beer.

“Maker’s breath, Merrill,” Hawke says. “I wasn’t even sure that’s what they were doing.”

“Of course it’s what they were doing, don’t be silly,” Merrill says hastily, trying to smooth it over. “It changed how Anders walked, and he kept glaring all lusty at Fenris. Which I can’t blame him, that _was_ a long trek. I hope he got to try it ahead of time?”

Fenris clears his throat and says, “No, I’m afraid I was completely cruel.”

Merrill checks Anders, who’s trying not to be pleased, and Hawke looks approving. “Ah, that’s good, then,” Merrill says. “As long as you had fun, and it all turned out okay.”

Fenris seems to be having throat problems. Merrill wonders if she has any horehound drops left. “Yes,” he chokes out, “it turned out… more than okay.” Fenris glances at Anders, who turns an adorable shade of pink.

“Oh, that’s so sweet!” Merrill says.

Isabela, Varric, and Aveline laugh, suddenly not frozen anymore. “Let Anders keep some of his dignity, Kitten,” Isabela says, throwing an arm around her.

Merrill shrugs. “There’s nothing wrong with a little cruelty now and then,” she says. “I prefer soft furs and blood play, but everyone’s tastes vary.”

“You’d think those things wouldn’t go together,” Varric says. Mutters? Definitely mutters.

“Cleanup is very easy when… Why is no one moving again? Is it because I said something dirty?”

Isabela hugs her sideways. “Kitten, you’re surprising the Fade into everyone with your dirty talk.”

The Dalish share information much more freely than this. Some of her clan mates would have already started spinning a story, true or not. “I still haven’t been told”—

“Lyrium core,” Fenris says, smiling his smuggest smile. Hawke’s eyebrows shoot up, but he’s busy keeping Anders from sliding under the table like a wet noodle.

Merrill grins brilliantly. “Thank you!” she says.

Finally, everyone laughs and talks and jokes normally again. Which is good. She hadn’t somehow ruined the evening. She likes going out, but she worries about ruining the evening when she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawke talks to Merrill later, and she apologizes to Anders.

**Author's Note:**

> This is tagged muddy negotiation because although they negotiate doing the ‘other favor’ and sex while Anders is horny as hell, they had already negotiated the spanking itself, and they know where each others’ boundaries are. They also don’t establish safewords formally the way Hawke prefers, but again they know each others’ safewords.
> 
> Big thanks to What_the_Butler_Saw for the beta! Find her work at https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_the_butler_saw/pseuds/what_the_butler_saw


End file.
